


Care

by ABrighterDarkness



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Affection, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Fluff, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Painting, Sweet, Tattoos, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABrighterDarkness/pseuds/ABrighterDarkness
Summary: Steve had noticed his discomfort and he had come up with something of a plan.  Bucky wasn’t sure that it would work the way that Steve hoped but he thought that he might have agreed to it regardless.For Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020 for the square Y2 - Handle with Care
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687492
Comments: 16
Kudos: 84
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	Care

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I saw the square on my bingo card that said "Handle with Care" and this idea immediately smacked me in the face. 
> 
> A huge thank you to swisstea for the beta read!!
> 
> Title: Care  
> Collaborator(s): ABrighterDarkness  
> Link  
> Square Filled: Y2 - Handle With Care  
> Ship/Main Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers  
> Rating: G  
> Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings: N/A  
> Summary: Steve had noticed his discomfort and he had come up with something of a plan. Bucky wasn’t sure that it would work the way that Steve hoped but he thought that he might have agreed to it regardless.  
> Word Count: 2119

Steve was careful, patient in a way he never seemed to be anywhere else. Gentle, the way he had only come to associate with Steve Rogers, no matter how big or small the man happened to be. His left hand held Bucky’s wrist in a steady grip as the fingers of his right hand curled around a fine tipped brush. Confident movements drew the thin bristles through each and every fine space between the metal plates that made up his left arm. 

Because Steve had noticed Bucky’s distaste and resentment toward the artificial appendage. Of course he had. He had never actually been as oblivious as he often allowed himself to appear, especially not when it came to the people he cared about. Especially not when it came to Bucky. That in itself had taken some time to readjust to. Falling under that umbrella of gentle care that Steve had always reserved just for those closest to him.

Don’t get him wrong, Steve was always kind and considerate to everyone he met until they gave him reason not to be. Sarah Rogers had raised a gentleman and Bucky very much doubted that Steve would willingly stray from that. But it was different, the way he treated everyday strangers and the way he was toward the select few who managed to work past his defenses and become someone that Steve would unabashedly say that he loved. 

It was evident in the way he not-so-gently but fondly urged Stark out of his lab, knowing the man didn’t want to be handled with kid gloves. The way he’d linger after sparring with Romanov and take her critiques of his form without more than a playfully sarcastic complaint that really wasn’t much of a complaint at all. Even in the way he had dedicated himself to learning sign language as soon as he had learned that Barton had hearing loss. Or how he always made sure that there was a kettle of hot water ready next to the brewing coffee pot as soon as he returned from his morning runs, knowing that Banner preferred his teas over coffee like the rest of the team. 

But more immediately relevant, Bucky could see it here and now, in the gentle way Steve held his metal wrist with the same warmth and affection that he would have gripped the one still made of flesh and blood and bone. Because Steve had noticed his discomfort and he had come up with something of a plan. Bucky wasn’t sure that it would work the way that Steve hoped but he thought that he might have agreed to it regardless.

Steve’s grip shifted, his palm braced flat under Bucky’s wrist and his fingers uncurling as he dipped his brush again and began to patiently swipe through the articulating plates of his wrist and palm to his fingertips. Careful not to undo his work, Steve rotated his arm, dipped his brush, and worked down the backside of his arm, to his wrist, to his fingertips.

It was an odd sensation. The sensors in the arm allowed him to feel, to some extent. He could feel the sweeps of the bristles but not the coolness of the protective gel being applied. He could feel Steve’s palm and his fingers and the steady pulse that the sensors were sensitive enough to read but not the warmth of his skin. 

Bucky’s attention was drawn away from his consideration when Steve dropped the brush onto the tray beside him. Steve smiled when Bucky glanced up curiously. That smile had taken some getting used to, as well. Because, removed as he was from the chair and the wipes, Bucky could remember that smile. He couldn’t remember if that smile had always caused the fluttering in his stomach and beneath his sternum, but he thought that maybe it had. 

“Tony said that should protect the panels and keep the paint from messing with the movement,” Steve said, that same smile that Bucky was just thinking about still firmly on his face. “You okay, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a slow nod. “Yeah, just thinkin’.”

“What about?” Steve asked curiously as he shifted in his seat. He reached for the tray, drawing it closer and laying out his tools. Pouring paints into little cups and making sure his brushes were within easy reach.

Because Steve had noticed and he had planned. Bucky had been able to read the hesitation and nervousness in his posture and tone when he had oh-so-tentatively asked if Bucky would allow him to paint the arm. Not draw it in one of his many books or paint it on a canvas. No, Steve wanted to turn the arm he hated into his canvas. He wanted to try to turn something terrible and lethal into something beautiful. To cover just  _ some _ of the bad and give it new life.

Bucky still wasn’t sure it would work quite the way that Steve wanted to. But...Steve had wanted to give this to Bucky, had wanted so badly to do this that Bucky had been able to hear the slight tremble in the question when he finally asked. The nervousness that bordered on pleading when Steve had rushed to assure him that it was just an offer and that he would talk with Stark about the best ways to protect the arm if Bucky agreed.

He could and would admit to being confused by the question, the offer. He’d agreed. Of course he had. Steve didn’t seem to ask for many things, never had if Bucky’s memory was in any way reliable. Even this, though, Steve hadn’t asked for himself. He couldn’t have. What would Steve get out of spending his day handling the artificial arm that had been responsible for so much? No, true to form, Steve was asking to be allowed to do something for Bucky. But he had still asked and Bucky had still agreed.

Bucky eyed the way Steve carefully took hold of his wrist once again. Steve looked up expectantly as he dipped a new brush, this time into one of the small cups of paint. Because he’d asked a question, right. What Bucky was thinking about. Bucky hesitated before finally asking the question that had been plaguing his mind since Steve had presented his idea. “Why?”

“Why what?” Steve asked in confusion.

“All of this,” Bucky said, using his right hand to wave indicatively at the brush in Steve’s hand and the paints on the tray. It was still very vague, Bucky knew, but he wasn’t quite sure how to actually put his own confusion into words to explain. 

But Bucky could tell that Steve knew anyway. Because somehow Steve always seemed to understand what he meant even when the words didn’t seem to come. His frown of confusion eased and his expression softened. Bucky could remember that expression too. The soft, fond affection that Steve had never thought to hide, even when they were boys and not doing so could have meant so many terrible things. Bucky wished he could remember if that younger version of him, the boy he must have once been, felt the same awe that he did at being the recipient of that look.

Steve put the brush back down onto the tray and turned to face Bucky fully, curling both of his large hands around Bucky's metal one. His thumbs swept gentle sweeps over the back of Bucky’s wrist, almost hypnotically, as he spoke in a tone that was as gentle as his touch. 

”Because I love you, all of you,” he said simply, as though that was all the answer that mattered. Before Bucky could consider the idea of pressing for more, Steve continued, perhaps knowing that his answer hadn't satisfied the question asked. ”Because you deserve to take this,” his hands squeezed lightly on Bucky’s own, “back from them. You deserve to feel every bit as good and as beautiful as you really are, as I know you are. And I kinda thought that this might help with that.” 

Steve flushed slightly and ducked his head, averting his eyes for a brief moment before meeting Bucky’s again. ”If nothing else, at least I can give you something to look at until you get bored of it. The paint can come off so you're not stuck with it unless you want it.”

It took a moment for the strange undertone of the words to register, for Bucky to be able to grasp the uncertainty in his voice. It was another facet of that gentle care, of Steve Rogers’ affinity, that show of vulnerability, seemingly mild as it might be. Because Bucky knew Steve like Steve knew Bucky. Knew that Steve wasn’t truly any more confident than he was oblivious, not really, not when it was something that mattered to him. Bucky’s happiness had somehow become a thing that mattered. 

Bucky closed his hand around Steve’s, metal fingers curling around the fingers pressed into his palm. He allowed himself a moment. Just a moment to take in, to appreciate the affection in the careful hold. And then, he could feel the fondness to his bones and allowed it to show freely in his tone and on his face when he smiled and spoke, ”Show me what you've got, Stevie.”

That smile reappeared and with it so did the fluttering tingles. 

And Steve painted.

It didn't matter if minutes or hours passed. Not when he got to watch Steve focus so intently on the strokes of his paintbrushes. Not when he got to feel the gentle grip on his hand or his wrist, turning and rotating it this way and that as Steve worked. Definitely not when Steve leaned in closer when the delicate artwork reached his chest and shoulder and Steve broke his concentration just long enough to kiss him sweetly. That certainly hadn’t helped the fluttering. Bucky thought he didn’t quite mind though when he could feel the upturned curve of Steve’s lips against his own.

Bucky didn’t see the design, not while Steve was working on it. He could see vivid swirls of red and yellow and orange out of the corner of his eye but he didn’t look. Steve hadn't said that he couldn't, hadn't asked him not to but that didn't matter. He could, would wait and be content with watching Steve. 

Eventually, Steve sat back and dropped his brush onto the tray. He wiped his hands on a clean cloth and met Bucky’s gaze with a smile. “Take a look,” he encouraged.

There was excitement and nervousness reverberating between them as Bucky led the way to the bathroom mirror, Steve trailing just a few steps behind. Despite the hints of vibrant color he had seen, Bucky hadn’t been sure what to expect. Standing in front of the mirror with Steve watching him with hesitant anticipation, Bucky could admit that he hadn't expected this.

For several long moments he could only stand and stare in disbelief, rotating and twisting his arm in all directions. Swirls of reds and oranges and yellows collided drastically yet somehow seamlessly with white and blues and purples as his eyes trailed from fingertips to shoulder, front to back. Not once, he noted, did the terribly familiar gleam of metal peek through the beautiful work. 

Perhaps he had stayed quiet for too long or maybe his expression said too much or not quite enough but he could feel that slight hesitation when Steve’s arms slid around his waist and his chin hooked over his shoulder. Bucky could hear that nervous tremble in his voice when he asked, quiet and low, “Do you like it?”

He almost didn't answer, almost couldn't. Not when looking in the mirror wasn't an awful reminder. Not when looking at that arm wasn't enough to reawaken memories of violence. 

But Steve was asking, that slight tremble in his voice, heartbeat thundering against Bucky’s back. Because this was something that mattered.

Bucky swallowed around the knot of overwhelming thoughts and emotions and somehow gathered the ability to speak. Even then, though, the words were shaky and thick and nowhere near what Bucky only wished that he could properly articulate. “Yeah Stevie, I-I like it a whole lot.”

Steve ducked his head but Bucky could feel the shy curve of his lips against the skin of his neck. 

Bucky sought out Stark while Steve was on his morning run the next morning. Between the sealant used to keep Iron Man red and gold and Steve’s beautiful artwork, Bucky thought he might never have to see bare metal again.

That smile reappeared when he told Steve what he had done and so did the flutters. 


End file.
